“It was no accident. You can’t patch it up that way—or in any—I _see_. You have practiced his handwriting. You have done this before.”
Stephen gathered himself together feebly. “Of what do you accuse me?” he fumbled.
“Tell me the truth—I must know the truth.”
Then Stephen added blunder to blunder. He pointed to the ledger. “I know nothing of it—nothing.”
“You are lying, Stephen Pryde—it’s as plain on your face as the truth was on Hugh’s—and, God forgive me, I wouldn’t believe him.”
“I didn’t do it, I tell you!” Stephen was blustering fiercely now.
“You had access to that ledger as well as Hugh. You can’t deny the damnable evidence of this you’ve just written before my eyes. Oh! how blind I’ve been—blind—blind! Stephen,” he panted in his fury, “unless you tell me the truth now, by the mother that bore you, I’ll show you no mercy—none.”
For a space Stephen stared at him, fascinated—caught. All at once his courage quite went, and he sagged down in his chair, crumpled and beaten. “I did it,” he said hoarsely. “I had to.”
“You made the alteration in the ledger after Hugh left?”
“My God! and you wrote the anonymous letter to Grant, too! Why?”
“I wanted power—dominion—they are all that make life worth living. You drove me to it. You never cared for me—not as you did for Hugh—you thwarted me always. I wanted power, I tell you. I would have given it to you—such power as you never dreamed of—such power as few men ever have had. But you always stood in my way. You kept me a subordinate—and I hated it. You threw Helen and Hugh together, and I could have killed you. When the war broke out I saw my chance. I meant to take for myself the place I could have won for you—and would have won—for you—and for her—but I needed money—so—I speculated—and lost.”
“And then you put the crime on your brother’s shoulder. You would have ruined his life—destroyed his happiness.”
“What does the life and happiness of any one matter, if they stand in the way? Hugh! Hugh meant nothing to the world—Hugh’s a fool. I could have done great things—I could have given England the Air—The Air.”
“Yes,” Bransby said piteously. “Yes, I believed in you. I have left the control of my business to you—after my death. Thank God for to-morrow—to alter that, to——”